


Love-Lies-Bleeding

by Dreamin



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Vampire Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27095089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamin/pseuds/Dreamin
Summary: Six months after Sherlock Holmes saves her from the Rucastles, Violet Hunter discovers his deepest secret.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Violet Hunter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/gifts).



> My first Granada Holmes Halloween fic. What better way to start than with a paranormal romance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banner by me and [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake)

“Until next time,” Violet Hunter murmured. She removed one yellow rose from the bouquet in her hand and laid the rest of the flowers in front of the joint tombstone. “I love you.”

It was the sixth anniversary of her parents’ deaths and like every one before it, she visited their graves and left her mother’s favorite flowers. It was early October and the day was unseasonably dry and sunny, with only the chilly breeze to remind her that it was autumn. Not wanting to waste the late afternoon sunshine, Violet decided to stay and explore the cemetery.

The longer she walked respectfully amongst the tombstones and statuary, the more she felt drawn to the oldest part of the cemetery. Here, dead leaves crunched under her boots while others danced in the breeze around the overgrown graves.

One such grave stood out among the others. The ground in front of it was sunken. _As if it had settled or … as if the tomb were empty._ Shaking off a sudden chill, she was determined to see whose grave it was. The tombstone was covered in bright red ivy. After laying her rose on the ground then gently pulling the ivy away, Violet’s jaw dropped when she saw the name on the tombstone.

_Sherlock Holmes_

But what made a chill run down her spine were the dates below it.

_January 6 th, 1804-January 6th, 1854_

Violet mentally shook herself. _He must be a relative of the Mr. Holmes I know. Perhaps his grandfather._ She finished cleaning off the tombstone then dusted off her gloved hands and stood before brushing off her skirt. After stooping to retrieve her rose, she took a moment to sniff the flower before laying it at the base of the headstone.

“Whoever you were,” she murmured, “I think you meant something to the Sherlock Holmes I had the pleasure of meeting.” The sun was setting and she knew the cemetery would soon close for the night. Turning to leave, she stopped dead in her tracks as a gasp escaped her.

There before her stood Sherlock Holmes, looking just as surprised as she felt.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was deep in his death-sleep when he felt it – someone was disturbing his grave. He woke to see by the light coming through the windows of his Baker Street bedroom that it was just before sunset. He got up and quickly dressed in his usual black suit, keeping one eye on the windows. As soon as the sun started to set, he felt his powers rise as well as his anger.

_How dare they…_

He disappeared then reappeared in the cemetery, just behind the stranger foolish enough to disturb a vampire’s grave. Except this was no stranger, and as she laid a yellow rose on his newly-cleaned grave, he realized she wasn’t truly disturbing anything except his thoughts. Still, Miss Violet Hunter was the last person he thought he’d see.

Her simple task completed, she turned around and gasped when she saw him, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as she stared at him wide-eyed. Sherlock knew he had much the same expression on his own face.

What he didn’t know was what to do next.

Miss Hunter recovered from her shock before he did. “Oh, Mr. Holmes, I had no idea you were there.” She smiled shyly. “You must forgive me, I was drawn to this grave and felt a need to clear away the ivy. Once I saw it belonged to a relative of yours, I wanted to leave something for him. I kept one rose from the bouquet I just left for my parents and I was planning to take it home but after seeing this grave, I couldn’t walk away without leaving something. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine, Miss Hunter,” he heard himself say. He relaxed to a point but was unable to relax fully, as it was when he was around most humans. “It’s getting late, you don’t want to be out here after dark.” He offered her his arm.

She took it and chuckled as they walked away from his grave. “I have no fear of ghosts and goblins, Mr. Holmes, just of being locked in overnight. The dead can’t hurt us.”

_If you only knew._ “The dead can’t, no, but there are also those among the living who seek deserted places after dark for their nefarious deeds.”

Miss Hunter stared at him and he knew such a thought had never occurred to her. He gave her a reassuring smile. “But fear not, my dear – I will see you safely home.”

She smiled a bit. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. You’ll have to promise me you’ll go straight home afterwards, and you must tell me what you’re doing out on a chilly day like this without your coat, hat, and gloves.”

He chuckled. “I was in such a hurry to get here that I completely forgot.” He mentally kicked himself for revealing perhaps too much.

“What could be so urgent at a cemetery?” she asked, her tone gently teasing.

“I forgot to visit the grave today and wanted to get here before the cemetery closed for the night.”

“Ah. May I ask who-”

“My grandfather,” he cut in. “The first Sherlock Holmes.”

“Then you’re the third?”

“The second – my grandmother insisted on naming my father Siger after her grandfather.” _I could make her believe me but there isn’t a need yet._

“I see,” she murmured. “And would you name your son Sherlock Holmes III?”

“I would have, but it’s too late now.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Hunter declared, grinning. “You’re certainly not old and I’m sure there are plenty of women who would be happy to be the wife of Sherlock Holmes II and the mother of Sherlock Holmes III.”

He found her good mood infectious. “And what of you, Miss Hunter?”

“Me?” she asked, surprised.

“Yes,” he said, grinning. “What would you name your child?”

Her cheerfulness instantly vanished. They had reached the gate by that time and she turned to him, a smile pasted on her face. “There’s no need to escort me home, Mr. Holmes – my hotel isn’t far from here. It was lovely to see you again. Goodnight.”

She tried to let go of his arm but he put his free hand over hers, stopping her. “Miss Hunter,” he said gently, “was it something I said?”

She sighed quietly. “I’d rather not discuss it out in the open, Mr. Holmes.”

He paused. “Then, will you allow me to escort you to Baker Street? The two of us having a private discussion in my place of business will raise fewer eyebrows than us having the discussion in your hotel room.”

“To be honest, I would rather not discuss it at all. Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”

“Goodnight, Miss Hunter.” He lifted her hand from his arm and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles before letting go.

She stared at him sadly for a moment before turning and walking away. He waited until she was almost out of sight before he started after her. _The last thing I want is for her to encounter some ruffian on the way._

Sure enough, two burly men approached her, grinning, and asked her where she was headed. Miss Hunter behaved admirably – keeping her tone civil and her spine straight while she gave them a nonspecific answer. Sherlock held back, keeping himself invisible in the shadows as he waited to see what would happen.

He didn’t have to wait long – one of the men roughly grabbed Miss Hunter’s arm and tried to drag her away. It was Miss Hunter’s cry for help that had him at her side with inhuman speed. He pried the man’s hand off her with enough force to break the man’s fingers. While that man whimpered in pain as he clutched his hand, the other one took a swing at Sherlock but missed, giving Sherlock a chance to knock him out with a blow to the head.

The first man, seeing his friend lying unconscious in the street, roared with rage then pulled a knife from his coat with his good hand and lunged at Sherlock. He grabbed the man by his neck and lifted him off the ground with ease.

“I think not,” Sherlock murmured as he grinned at the man, revealing his growing fangs.

The ruffian went white as a sheet and rasped, “Please … don’t hurt me…”

“Oh, I’ll do much more than that,” Sherlock murmured. He heard Miss Hunter gasp behind him at his show of strength but he ignored that. “Wait here, Miss Hunter,” he insisted, then he dragged the man into a nearby alley.

The light from the gaslamp didn’t reach the far end of the alley, so he dragged the man back there before finally setting him on his feet and sinking his fangs into the man’s neck. The man’s pained cry lasted only a moment before he lost consciousness.

Sherlock was happy to drink his fill, only stopping when his conscience forced him to take no more than the man could spare. The man’s unconscious body dropped to the ground. He was tempted to kick him in the ribs but he was satisfied with wiping the memory of that night from the man’s mind.

He turned to leave the alley and was shocked to see Miss Hunter collapsed on the ground a few feet away. “Miss Hunter!” Kneeling beside her, he touched her neck and felt her pulse. “Not dead,” he murmured, more relieved than he could say. “Merely fainted.” _How did she even get this close without me sensing her presence?_

Gently picking her up, he then carried her out of the alley. The other ruffian was still unconscious and Sherlock decided to simply leave him as he was. _All he saw was me breaking a man’s fingers, a show of force that’s not outside the realm of believable human strength._

Sherlock looked down at the unconscious woman in his arms. He knew he should take her back to her hotel but in her condition, he didn’t think that was the best course of action. _To Baker Street it is, then._


	3. Chapter 3

Violet woke to the sound of distant thunder. She sat up then looked around the familiar sitting room from her position on the settee. The curtains were closed on the windows and a fire burned merrily in the fireplace. All the lamps were lit and the room felt warm and cozy, more than enough to drive away the chill she felt when her mind replayed what she’d seen in the alley.

 _I must have been seeing things. But where is Mr. Holmes?_ She removed the grey afghan that had been draped over her then stood on slightly wobbly legs when a door she assumed led to Mr. Holmes’ bedroom opened and the man himself came into the room just as thunder boomed seemingly directly over the house, making Violet jump, and rain could be heard hitting the windowpanes.

Mr. Holmes approached her cautiously, his grey-green eyes gentle, nothing like the monster she thought she saw in the alley. “How do you feel, Miss Hunter?”

She laughed weakly. “Embarrassed. Who faints over something they _thought_ they saw?”

Instead of laughing along with her, he eyed her speculatively. “What did you see?”

“Nothing, but what I _thought_ I saw was you biting that man’s neck. Silly, isn’t it?” He still didn’t laugh and her own laughter sounded nervous to her ears. She stopped laughing altogether when he moved closer, his gaze intent.

“Miss Hunter,” he murmured when he was close enough to reach out and touch her if he wanted to, “what would you say if I were to tell you that what you thought you saw in that alley was the absolute truth?”

She swallowed hard against a sudden lump in her throat then said quietly, “I would say your sense of humor leaves much to be desired, Mr. Holmes.” She looked around for her coat and hat. “I should be going now…”

He gently took her hand. “Miss Hunter … please, hear me out.” When she turned to look at him, the look in his eyes was beseeching.

 _I truly think I could drown in those eyes._ She sighed quietly. “Very well, Mr. Holmes. How do you explain what I saw?”

He released her hand then pulled a hatpin from the pocket of his jacket with his left hand and held up his right. “If you would be so kind, Miss Hunter,” he murmured as he offered her the hatpin.

She took it, frowning in confusion. “You want me to stab you?”

“Yes, the sight of blood will-”

Before he was even finished speaking, she took the pin and pricked her left index finger with it. A dark red drop of blood welled up and when she held her finger up so he could see, Mr. Holmes’ eyes glowed silver before he opened his mouth and his canine teeth elongated into fangs. Violet could feel the blood rushing from her face, leaving her lightheaded as he took her hand in both of his and sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth. His velvety wet tongue lapped up the drop as his eyes closed in what Violet could only call ecstasy.

After a moment, his tongue laved her fingertip once more before his mouth released it. The small wound was healed, she noted, then she looked at his face. He was gazing at her, his expression guarded and his mouth closed. Feeling the same pull that led her to the tombstone, she reached her free hand up to cup his cheek, her thumb just brushing his lower lip. He obediently opened his mouth, his fangs still fully extended, and just before she could touch the tip of one, he gently pulled her hand away.

“They’re sharp,” he murmured.

Despite the pull she still felt to him, she managed to take a step back and he released her hands. Violet smiled weakly. “So, you’re a vampire and that grave I found is yours.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I should know better than to underestimate you. Yes on both counts. I was born in 1804 and died on my fiftieth birthday. At least, everyone thought I was dead. In reality, I had been turned.”

A thought struck her. “I don’t understand – I saw you walking around in daylight at The Copper Beeches. And before that, you sat in that chair,” she pointed to the chair by the desk, “with sunlight pouring through the window. I thought the sun could kill a vampire.”

“Not everything in the old tales is true – sunlight weakens us but it can’t kill us. In daylight, I am little more than an ordinary man – no inhuman strength or speed, no ability to control minds, no ability to change shape.”

“Then I assume you do sleep during the day, like in the tales?”

He nodded. “When I do sleep. If I’m on a case, I don’t rest at all.”

“That can’t be healthy.” She smiled weakly. “Even for a vampire.”

Mr. Holmes chuckled. “It’s not, I make up for it by sleeping eighteen hours or more the next day.”

Violet nodded. “I don’t know why I’m so … accepting now,” she admitted, smiling a bit. “I suppose fainting once is enough.” She paused. “Unless … you’re controlling my mind?”

“I’m not, I swear,” he murmured. “I would never do that to you.” He gently took her hands. “Do you trust me, Miss Hunter?”

“Part of me wants to run from here and never look back,” she admitted quietly, “but that’s fear, and I refuse to be afraid of you. You saved me from the Rucastles. You could have bitten me at any time we were together but you didn’t. You didn’t even bite Mr. Rucastle when he was covered in blood.”

“I wanted to,” he said quietly. “I only held off because there were too many witnesses.”

She nodded. “How often do you drink blood?”

“On average, once a fortnight, but never from innocent people. The rest of the time, I live on animal blood.”

“Then, have you ever taken blood from someone willing to give it?”

He motioned for her to sit on the settee then he sat down next to her. “You must understand, Miss Hunter, that when blood is given willingly, it’s an act of … intimacy akin to intercourse. I have never found someone that important to me so to answer your question, no, I haven’t.”

He looked ashamed of that and her heart went out to him. She gently took his hand, murmuring, “When you asked me what I would name my child, I had no answer for you because…” She swallowed hard.

“Because you are infertile,” he said gently. “Forgive me for even bringing it up.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” she insisted. “I rarely even think about it anymore.”

“Is it why you’re not married?”

She nodded. “Men want wives who can give them heirs. A woman who has no money, no connections, and can’t even have children? No man would want me.”

“They’re fools,” he declared. He looked like he wanted to say more but then he looked at his pocket watch. “It’s getting late.” He turned back to her. “Miss Hunter, I must ask you to swear that you’ll keep my secret.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” she said vehemently.

“You may ask for anything you want in return.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“I’m asking for a very serious favor.”

Violet smiled gently. “You’ve asked me to keep your secret. You are my friend, so I will do nothing less.”

He chuckled. “You are a singular woman, Miss Hunter.”

“Thank you, and you are certainly a singular man, Mr. Holmes.” She grinned. “But then, I knew that when we met.”

His friendly grin dispelled any lingering fears she had.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as Sherlock walked back into his sitting room after escorting Miss Hunter to her hotel, he growled in frustration. _The most perfect woman for me and I cannot have her. I cannot subject her to a life with me – either she grows old while I stay the same and comes to resent me for it, or I turn her and she will forever regret the life she lost._ He flopped onto the settee, one hand over his eyes.

A knock at the door was his only warning before Mrs. Hudson came in with a tray. “Your dinner, Mr. Holmes,” she said as she carried the tray to the table. “It’s too bad that nice Miss Hunter couldn’t stay.”

Sherlock got up then walked to the table. “I doubt she would have wanted to see me eat this,” he muttered as he sat down to his bowl of warmed pig blood, then he looked up at his landlady. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” he said sincerely. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Run yourself even more ragged than usual, I suspect,” she said, her smile fond. She walked to the door and was about to leave when she turned to him, smiling a bit. “Don’t let her slip through your fingers, Mr. Holmes.”

“What kind of life can I offer her?” he asked quietly.

“A good one,” she insisted before leaving the room.

“‘A good one,’” Sherlock muttered sarcastically. “Ha!” He ate the blood like it was the soup it resembled, his thoughts never straying far from Miss Hunter. _Her blood is the sweetest I’ve ever had. A mere drop was enough to make me crave it for eternity. Of course, this means I can never have it again, lest I refuse to let her leave. For her own safety, I should do my best to avoid her._

After going to bed at midnight, he was awoken at seven by his former flatmate knocking on his bedroom door. “What on _Earth_ do you want, Watson?” he mumbled as he turned onto his side. _If I can’t have Miss Hunter, at least let me dream about her._

The bedroom door opened and John stuck his head in. “Sorry, Holmes, but I’ve brought a client – an acquaintance of mine needs our help.”

 _At least a client will keep my mind off her._ “Very well, I’ll be ready in a moment.”

Sherlock didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed that the case was solved over breakfast. Thankfully, he was able to eat human food when the situation required it, so his secret was still safe from John and anyone else who might drop by. John and the client then left him to his devices.

He considered going back to bed and trying to dream of Miss Hunter again, then dismissed the idea as foolish. _It would be best for all concerned if I simply forgot about her._ He resolved to stop thinking about her but that effort only led to him thinking about her even more.

His frustration rose to such an unbearable level that when there was a knock on the door, he growled, “What now, Mrs. Hudson?”

Used to her tenant’s outbursts, she simply opened the door and grinned at him knowingly. “Miss Hunter is here to see you, Mr. Holmes.”

He stared at her then turned and walked the windows. While the previous night’s storm had blown over hours ago, he could feel another approaching, despite the current sunshine. “Send her away, Mrs. Hudson,” he said firmly. “But … do it gently.”

“You, Mr. Holmes, don’t know a good thing when you find it,” she said disapprovingly.

“On the contrary, I know exactly how good of a woman Miss Hunter is and I refuse to sully her with my world any further.”

“Shouldn’t that be my decision?” an already familiar voice said from the doorway.

Sherlock winced before turning to face the ladies. Miss Hunter stood behind Mrs. Hudson, one hand on the doorknob as if to steady herself. The wounded expression on her face went straight to the heart he pretended not to have.

Mrs. Hudson nodded to herself, apparently satisfied. “I’ll leave you two to talk it over.” Miss Hunter stepped out of the doorway and the older woman left, closing the door behind her.

“Did I do something wrong?” Miss Hunter asked quietly.

“No, of course not,” he assured her. “You could never do anything wrong in my eyes.” He mentally kicked himself for revealing too much.

“Then why would you refuse to see me?”

“You heard my decision,” he said quietly as he headed for the fireplace. He desperately wanted to smoke but propriety kept him from doing so in front of her.

Miss Hunter stayed where she was. “Am I hurting you with my presence somehow?” she asked quietly. “If it were me, I’d be happy to have another friend, especially one I didn’t have to hide from.”

“Of course you’re not hurting me,” he said, his focus on the fire burning in the fireplace. He heard her walk to him and tensed when she lightly placed a hand on his jacket-clad shoulder.

“I think you’re lying,” she said gently, “but I don’t understand why.”

He brought one hand up to cover hers. “I want to protect you from the world,” he said quietly, “but being with me is more dangerous than anything out there.”

She moved in front of him and raised her hands to cradle his face. The warmth of her hands radiated through him. “You would never hurt me, Sherlock,” she murmured, the affection and sincerity in her eyes breaking his heart even more.

Hearing something so intimate as her calling him by his Christian name nearly broke his resolve as well. He swallowed hard then brought his hands up to encircle her wrists, murmuring, “Don’t, Miss Hunter.” He gently lowered her hands but didn’t release them. “I can’t be what you want.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she murmured before closing her eyes and capturing his mouth with hers in a soft kiss.

Sherlock froze at the first contact. It had been far too long since someone had kissed him, so long that he had nearly forgotten what a kiss felt like. Before he had a chance to react, she pulled back.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, not meeting his eyes, her cheeks bright red. She pulled her hands away and headed for the door. “Forgive me…”

“Wait!” He ran to her and pulled her into his arms then kissed her deeply.

She kissed him back with equal fervor and he could sense that her knees had weakened. Ignoring the manly pride he felt, he swooped her up then carried her to the settee and sat down with her across his lap, kissing her the entire time.

After a moment, she pulled back, grinning. “You were saying something about not being what I want?”

He smiled back sadly. “This can’t end well, you must understand that, Violet.”

“I think you’re wrong,” she murmured, “but let’s wait to be maudlin until the time comes. Can you accept that, for now at least, you are exactly what I want, Sherlock?”

He looked into her eyes, saw the acceptance and affection there, and nodded. “I can, yes.”

She rewarded him with another kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

Violet remained in Sherlock’s lap as they spoke of inconsequential things and she noticed his eyes kept straying to her neck. The thought that he wanted to bite her excited her even though she knew she wasn’t ready for that yet. Still, she couldn’t help teasing him, just a little.

“Hungry?” she murmured, her eyes dancing.

He quickly brought his gaze back up to her face, the look in his eyes decidedly guilty. “Starving, actually.” Sherlock sighed heavily as he looked away. “Your blood is like a drug – just one drop was enough to make me addicted.”

She stared at him. “Then … you only want me for my blood?”

His head jerked back to face her. “Certainly not. I want … I _need_ all of you, Violet. I’ve realized how empty my life was before we met. Why your blood tastes sweet instead of the salty metallic tang I’ve known for almost forty years is a mystery, one I intend to solve.” His eyes strayed to her neck again before meeting hers. “But even if your blood tasted the same as everyone else’s, I would still want it because it’s yours.”

The sudden relief she felt made her almost lightheaded. “Thank you, Sherlock,” she murmured. Her eyes fell to his neck and she raised one hand to run her finger along it, feeling him shiver. “What would happen if I drank your blood?”

“That you cannot do unless it was to turn you,” he said firmly. “Without my taking more than half your blood first, drinking my blood would make you my thrall – a mindless servant. It’s a fate I wouldn’t wish on my greatest enemy, and certainly not the woman I … care a great deal for.” He blushed, something she didn’t know men, let alone vampires, did.

She decided to mercifully overlook that in favor of satisfying her curiosity. “How were you turned?”

“It was an act of violence,” he said quietly. “The main suspect in a case I was on was a vampire, something I didn’t know until it was too late. He was a predator, more animal than man. I fought him in an attempt to free the young woman he’d taken and I thought I had the upper hand until his fangs tore through my neck.” He raised one hand to briefly touch the side of his neck.

Not knowing what to say, Violet lightly caressed the spot, hoping to soothe his troubled mind. The skin there, like the rest of him, was unscarred. _He must have healed quickly._

Sherlock’s eyes closed at her touch and he visibly relaxed before opening his eyes again and looking at her. “It wasn’t until sometime after I had recovered from the shock of being turned that I learned his name – James Moriarty. I have been trying to find him for almost forty years but he has proven ever elusive.”

“What will you do when you find him?”

“Send him to his final death.” He sighed quietly then smiled a bit. “Enough about him. Violet, will you accompany me to Lord and Lady Goring’s masquerade ball?”

Violet grinned delightedly. “I would love to. How did you get an invitation? I didn’t think you socialized, and that was before I knew the truth.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Evidently for them, paying me after solving a case wasn’t a good enough expression of their gratitude. I would have declined but I want to show you off, if that’s alright.”

She smiled softly. “I would like nothing better than to show up at a ball on your arm, Sherlock.”

He grinned. “I look forward to it.”

She grinned back then laid her head on his shoulder, keeping her eyes on his neck. Her breath made gooseflesh appear on his skin as he shivered.

“I see my inamorata likes to tease,” he murmured.

“Is that bad?” she murmured, making him shiver once more.

“No, but it’s certainly distracting.” He shifted uncomfortably beneath her.

That made her wonder something proper unmarried women shouldn’t even know about, but Violet had always been precocious. “Sherlock,” she murmured, not wanting to look him in the eye for this question, “you said that giving blood willingly is like intercourse but can you … that is to say, can vampires in general … um-”

“You’re asking if vampires can have intercourse,” he murmured.

_At least he’s not laughing at the question._ “Yes.”

“We can. Some even go as far as seducing humans in order to get their blood.”

She lifted her head to look him in the eye. “But have you ever done that?”

“Never,” he assured her gently. “And I would certainly never do that to you. If … no, _when_ I take you to bed, my dear, it will be with no other aim than to show you my feelings for you.”

Violet was filled with too many thoughts and emotions to even get a word out at first but then she managed, “When-when would that be?”

Sherlock chuckled gently. “All in due time.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I hope you mean after we’re married.”

“Of course – I’m still a gentleman, becoming a ‘creature of the night’ didn’t change that. I physically cannot enter a church, though, therefore we would need to be married at a registrar’s office.”

Violet mentally clamped down on the soaring hope that he would someday ask her to be his wife. _After all, he thinks our relationship won’t end well, apparently even if we marry._ Instead, she focused on one detail. “That part of the tales is true, then? You can’t touch sacred ground?”

Sherlock nodded. “The cemetery I was buried at is non-denominational, and the section my grave is in was reserved for atheists, et cetera. The land isn’t sacred, but I still have a connection to the grave. That’s how I knew you were there.”

“This may sound silly, but do you sleep in a coffin?”

He smiled a bit. “Not exactly.”

Violet raised an eyebrow as she smiled back. “What do you mean?”

“I sleep in a bed made from the wood of my coffin and beneath it is a sealed box of dirt from my grave.”

She nodded. “That sounds like a much more modern approach. It also explains why your grave has sunken.”

He nodded. “Everyone assumes it was robbed. Someday, I’ll tell you of how I escaped from my coffin.” He softly kissed her forehead and she felt an overwhelming urge to sleep.

Violet laid her head on his shoulder again, murmuring, “Is it alright if I nap for a bit? Thoughts of you kept me awake last night.”

“Of course,” he murmured.

The last thing she felt before dozing off was him kissing her hair.


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Violet was asleep, Sherlock gently moved her onto the settee before getting up and covering her with the grey afghan. His conscience pricked at him for using his power to induce her slumber but he had some things that needed to be worked out. He moved to the desk, keeping one eye on Violet as he drafted a letter.

_The fact that her blood tastes different is significant, I’m certain of it, but I don’t know why. Guglielmo will know, he has a few centuries more experience than myself._ The Italian vampire had helped him when he was first turned and had remained his confidante.

Once the letter was signed, sealed, and on its way, he turned back to Violet and watched her sleep. The urge to send her away for good was still there, but the urge to keep her close was stronger. _I will still lose her eventually._

* * *

Violet woke up in a darkened, unfamiliar bedroom and found herself still in her dress and bundled up in the grey afghan on top of a bed that was still made. _Is this Sherlock’s bed?_ Voices came from the other side of the door and she had her answer.

After a moment, the door opened and Sherlock came in, smiling gently. “I heard you wake up. How do you feel?”

“Refreshed, and a bit confused.”

He chuckled as he sat down next to her. “A client arrived so I brought you in here, I hope you don’t mind.”

She could feel warmth rising in her face but she ignored it. “It’s fine, really.” She laid her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her. Violet couldn’t remember the last time she felt so content.

He only held her for a moment, though, before getting up then helping her to her feet. “As much as I’d like you to stay, we can’t give society anything to gossip about.”

“Of course,” she murmured, grinning, as she wrapped her arms around him. “But would you really let me leave without another kiss?”

Sherlock grinned wickedly before claiming her mouth with his own.

* * *

The next few weeks went on much the same, with Violet coming to London on weekends and spending as much private time as she could with Sherlock. He took her to concerts of the most masterful violinists but they couldn’t compare to the private concerts he gave her in his sitting room.

Before she knew it, it was Halloween, the night of the Gorings’ masquerade ball. As agreed, Violet took a carriage to Baker Street, wringing her gloved hands nervously the entire time. She’d found an emerald green silk ballgown from the 1850s and had embellished it herself with black beaded lace. A matching black lace mask was on her face and she wore a black velvet hooded cloak.

When the carriage stopped in front of 221B, Violet gathered her courage then climbed out of the carriage with assistance from the footman and asked the driver to wait. Mrs. Hudson met her at the door, smiling in delight.

“You look lovely, Miss Hunter,” she said as she took Violet’s cloak.

Violet grinned in relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I take it he’s upstairs?”

“Of course. He’s been prowling around up there all day, waiting for you.”

That worried her. “Has he eaten?”

“Not since breakfast.” She must have seen the concern Violet felt on her face. “Don’t worry, dear – he only needs one meal a day to stave off hunger. Go on, he’s waiting for you.”

Violet nodded then headed upstairs. The door to the sitting room was open and she could hear Sherlock softly playing his violin. She suspected it was an original piece, full of melancholy and loneliness. Her heart went out to him as she stood in the doorway and watched him. His back was to her and she took a moment to admire his silhouette.

When the tune was finished, she murmured, “Sherlock, if you played that to make me fall more in love with you, it worked.”

He chuckled as he set the violin and bow down then murmured as he turned to face her, “Thank you, my-” His words stopped dead as he stared at her, his eyes wide.

_He hates it._ Swallowing hard against the sudden lump in her throat, she looked down at her hands, wishing she had worn a modern gown. _The neckline is too low, he doesn’t approve._ The off-the-shoulder style was much more daring than she was used to, her normally hidden decolletage displayed in a way that had made her feel confident in her hotel room but now, she wanted nothing more than to hide.

She didn’t know he had approached her until he gently took her hands. “You have never looked more beautiful,” he murmured. When she stared at him, he grinned. “Forgive my silence, I was in awe.” His eyes strayed first to her bare neck, then to her decolletage, before meeting hers. “You wore this in my honor?” He sounded touched.

Violet smiled softly, relieved. “Yes. I’ll admit that I wanted you to think of me as attractive as the women back then.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Believe me, my dear – no matter what you wear, you will always be the most attractive woman I have ever met.” He kissed her softly as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. After a moment, he kissed along her jawline then down her neck. He paused then lifted his head to meet her gaze.

“I want nothing more than to taste you again,” he murmured, “but now is not the right time.”

Violet nodded, feeling a bit giddy and light-headed. “Neither of us are ready to take that step.”

“Oh, I’m ready,” he murmured, grinning. “To be honest, I have been ready for a while now. But I know you aren’t, so I am more than willing to wait.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, then she grinned. “Where’s your mask?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “In the bedroom.” His costume was his usual evening wear, except this time his shirt and tie were also black. He was, simply put, stunning.

Violet would have been happy to spend the evening where they were but she knew it was important that they attended the ball. “You look very handsome, Sherlock,” she murmured, grinning. “I think it will be me showing you off tonight.”

His cheeks pinkened as he chuckled. “Thank you, my dear.” After retrieving his molded black leather devil mask, complete with curling horns, he then offered her his arm. “Shall we, my lady?”

She grinned as she took his arm. “Lead the way, good sir.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the end. Happy Halloween, everyone!

After meeting Lord and Lady Goring, a lovely young couple very much in love, when they arrived, Sherlock then proceeded to fend off several men who tried to dance with her without asking her to dance himself. At first, Violet was disappointed, but then a thought struck her.

“Sherlock,” she murmured, “do you not know how to dance?”

He chuckled. “Forgive me, my dear. I can dance, I was waiting for the right moment to ask you.”

Another waltz started and she grinned. “I think this is the right moment.”

Sherlock grinned at her beneath his mask then held out his hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Hunter?”

She took his hand, murmuring, “Yes, you may, Mr. Holmes.”

He led her onto the dance floor then took her in his arms for a proper ballroom hold as they waltzed to the music. Violet had never felt so attuned to a dance partner the way she did with him. They moved as one and while no words were exchanged, she knew this was a communication between them all its own.

When the tune was over, Sherlock led her off the dance floor and over to a secluded corner. “Wait here,” he murmured. “I’ll get us some refreshments.”

Violet grinned. “Good idea.”

Sherlock was only gone for a few minutes when she was approached by another man. Even with his black domino mask, she could see he was old, much older than Sherlock. “May I have this dance?” he asked, his manners brusque, nothing like Sherlock’s elegance.

Violet raised an eyebrow at his forwardness. “We have not been introduced, sir.”

“Forgive my impertinence. I simply had to meet you, Miss Hunter.”

Every fiber in her being told her to get away from the man but there was nowhere to go. _Sherlock will be back soon, he’ll get rid of him._ “You have me at a disadvantage.”

He smirked. “I am Prof. James Moriarty. Your Mr. Holmes and I are old friends.” His grin revealed a hint of his fangs but his name was more than enough for her.

Violet tried to scream but she was suddenly overcome by a mental fog, leaving her in a daze.

* * *

Sherlock returned to their corner with a champagne flute in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other, but Violet was nowhere to be found. He checked the dance floor to see if another man had taken advantage of his absence but she wasn’t among the dancers.

A liveried servant approached him. “Mr. Holmes? Miss Hunter asked me to give this to you.” He handed him a folded note. Sherlock set the glasses on the man’s tray then took the note.

“Thank you,” he said, utterly bewildered. When he read the note, though, all he felt was rage.

_Dear Mr. Holmes,_

_Have no fear, your precious flower is safe with me, though for how long is entirely up to you._

_You will find your end at your beginning. Do not dawdle._

_Your servant,_

_J. Moriarty_

After bidding a hasty goodbye to the Gorings, Sherlock left their mansion and waited until he found a deserted alley before disappearing. He appeared just outside the Tower of London’s outer wall and made his way into it.

_Autumn, 1854. The daughters of noble families were disappearing, only to be found dead outside of medieval castles, far from where they were taken. Each castle was older than the last and I realized the next one would be the White Tower. I had no idea that they were being taken by Moriarty in an arcane attempt to increase his power._

The Tower complex was deserted, even the guards were nowhere to be seen. A full moon was more than enough illumination for Sherlock as he made his way into the White Tower. Just as before, he found Moriarty and the kidnapped woman in St. John’s Chapel, only this time it was his beloved Violet laying unconscious on the altar. Every protective instinct in him urged him to get her out of there but he knew to try would mean certain doom for both of them.

“If I had known then, Holmes, how much of a nuisance you would become, I would have killed you outright,” Moriarty muttered from where he stood by the altar. “But then, I wouldn’t have the pleasure of killing the woman you love right in front of you.” His grin would have terrified a normal man.

Sherlock, though, was nothing but incensed. He calmly picked up a heavy oak chair, smashed it against the stone floor, then grabbed one of the pieces. “If you harm her, I will make your death as painful as I can.”

“You don’t have it in you.”

He grinned, baring his fangs. “We shall see.”

* * *

Violet woke to the sensation of being cradled in someone’s arms and she knew exactly who it was. “Sherlock?” she murmured.

“You’re alright, darling,” he murmured before softly kissing her hair. “He can’t hurt you.”

She raised her head to see Moriarty lying on the floor of the chapel, a broken piece of wood lodged in his chest, then she shuddered and buried her face in Sherlock’s chest. He held her closer.

After a moment, she lifted her head again to look up at him. “Are you injured?”

He smiled weakly. “I was about to ask the same of you. No.”

“Neither am I.”

Sherlock grinned in relief. “Then I will take you home before disposing of the body.” He stood, still cradling her, then he carried her out of the chapel.

Instead of taking her to her hotel like she expected, he took her to Baker Street then left again. Needing to distance herself from the memories of being manhandled by Moriarty, she asked Mrs. Hudson to help her out of her gown then the older woman drew her a hot bath.

“You’ll feel better in no time,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I’ll get you something to wear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” She got into the tub, sat down, and leaned back as the warmth of the water relaxed her. _This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go, but at least Sherlock no longer has Moriarty’s shadow hanging over him. Oh, Sherlock… How long will it be before he realizes we are destined to be together?_

There was a soft knock on the door then Mrs. Hudson came in with a white nightshirt and a grey dressing gown. Violet knew instantly they were Sherlock’s.

“He won’t mind?”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “If he does, then he’s no genius.” She helped Violet out of the tub then helped her dry off before Violet put on the nightshirt and dressing gown. After looking at herself in the mirror, she let her hair down then braided it like she did every night before bed.

By the time she left the bathroom, Sherlock had arrived. Mrs. Hudson grinned and bade them both goodnight before heading downstairs.

Sherlock stared at her then muttered, “I do believe Mrs. Hudson is trying to kill me.” Before Violet could respond, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

She kissed him back then giggled as he picked her up and carried her into the sitting room. He surprised her by carrying her to his chair by the fire then sitting down with her in his lap.

Violet grinned at him. “I take it you don’t mind.”

“Mrs. Hudson letting you borrow my clothes?” he asked, grinning. “Certainly not. Though, between my clothes and the high color in your cheeks, you look as though I had just spent the evening thoroughly debauching you.”

“Oh!” Her cheeks reddened even more as images filled her head.

Sherlock’s grin widened. “But not to fear, your virtue is safe with me.”

All of her feelings and desires coalesced and she knew she’d made her decision. “What if I don’t want it to be?” she murmured.

He stared at her. “Violet…” Without warning, he rose then set her on her feet before pacing away from her. “My life is too dangerous, as you yourself have seen tonight. I cannot-” He was interrupted by a knock on the door. He sighed heavily. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson?”

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson walked over to him, grinning, and held out a sealed envelope. “This just arrived. I believe it’s from your Italian friend. Goodnight.” She left again, closing the door behind her.

Sherlock broke the seal then pulled out the letter and read it, his eyes widening with each word. Violet sat down on the settee and waited for him to finish before asking, “What Italian friend?”

“Guglielmo de’ Medici, an old friend and ally,” he said as he sat beside her. He looked down at the letter again then up at her. “I asked him how your blood could taste sweet when I had never encountered its like before. He said he had to conduct research because the situation had never happened to him or the other vampires he’s known.”

“Did he find the answer?” she asked gently.

Sherlock nodded, looking a bit dazed. “He said it only happens when a vampire has found their destined soulmate.”

Violet smiled brightly. “Now will you believe that we are meant to be together?” She took the letter from him then gently took his hands. “I want you to turn me, Sherlock.”

He stared at her. “Violet-”

“No protests. I’ve thought a great deal about it and I want us to be together forever. You don’t have to turn me now but eventually.” She smiled softly. “What I do want now is for you to take me to bed, then in the morning, take me to the registrar’s office.”

He gazed at her then murmured, “Not without things being done properly.” To her amazement, he got down on one knee in front of her. “Violet Hunter, my love, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly filled with happy tears. “Yes, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock’s smile shined brighter than the sun as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.


End file.
